


Confrontation

by WastingYourGum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpectedly dangerous situation forces John to confront his feelings and Sherlock to confess his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confrontation

**Author's Note:**

> Because Johnlock is OK - but Johnlockstrade is better ;)
> 
> Challenge Prompt: After a nearly disastrous case, Sherlock and John share a tense taxi ride back to Baker Street. With emotions running high, they finally arrive back at 221B, and then…

John stripped his coat off, threw it towards his chair and headed into the kitchen.

Sherlock hung up his coat, sat down in his chair, leaned back, crossed his legs and waited for the imminent explosion.

John hadn't verbalised anything in the taxi home or since they'd entered the flat - but the stiffness in his back and shoulders, the way his fists continually clenched and unclenched and the thin, straight line of his mouth were saying plenty.

John made two mugs of tea with such barely contained fury that Sherlock half-expected to hear the sound of smashed crockery at any moment. John came back into the lounge, deposited one mug on the table by Sherlock's elbow and stood facing the fireplace, clutching the other.

"Thank you, John." Sherlock picked up his mug and blew across it before taking a sip. Now would probably not be the best time to mention that he didn't really feel like a cup of tea - no need to fan the flames.

John kept his gaze firmly fixed on the fireplace.

Sherlock sighed. John would stand and simmer for the rest of the day. Better to get this over with quickly - but how best to start? He put his mug down again.

"It was statistically very unlikely that Dawson would be armed."

John's knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the handle of his mug.

"And extremely unlucky that Lestrade chose to enter through that door when the far more logical method of ingress would have been the loading bay."

"Greg..." - and John's use of his first name was accusatory in itself - "Chose that door because it was closest and he thought we were in danger. Rightly, as it happened. If he'd come round through the loading bay he would have been too late and Dawson would have shot you."

"Dawson didn't want to shoot anybody - I would have talked him into giving me the gun. If Lestrade hadn't startled him..."

"Don't you **_dare_ ** try to make it Greg's fault that he got shot."

And there was the explosion.

"I wasn't apportioning blame, John."

"No, you were just avoiding it yourself! If you'd taken just ten seconds of your oh-so-precious time to tell me what we were doing there, I'd have been able to warn Greg and--"

"And he would have had to call in a Firearms Unit and Dawson would have escaped while we were waiting for it and we'd have completely missed the chance to recover his phone and the details of where they were holding Miss Palmer."

"And Greg wouldn't have ended up with a bloody hole in him!" John shouted.

Sherlock leapt to his feet. "And you wouldn't be venting your righteous anger on _me_ when really you're angry with being forced to confront your feelings for _him_!" he snarled back.

"I..." John's mouth opened and closed but nothing came out.

Sherlock hadn't expected that home truth to so effectively silence him but he took full advantage and carried on, "You've been attracted to him practically since the moment you met him and in complete denial since immediately after that. You looked like you were going to throw up in those two minutes we weren't sure he wasn't dead because you've never had the guts to tell him how you feel and you thought you'd missed your chance."

"You... I..." John was backing away now, a stricken look on his face.

Sherlock pressed forward. "Ask me how I know."

"I..."

Sherlock stepped right in front of John and looked down so they were practically nose to nose. " _Ask. Me._ "

"H-how do you--"

"Because I felt the _exact_ same way when James Winter shot you."

There was a long awkward pause. Their laboured breathing was the only sound in the room and even that faded as John took time to process Sherlock's words..

"Sherlock. I..."

"Yes, I know you don't feel the same," Sherlock cut him off. "I realised that quite some time ago. It's alright."

Another loaded silence.

John cleared his throat. "I... I thought you didn't..."

"I have nothing against physical intimacy but I don't do... sex. Which is why I continued not to say anything to you. Even should you develop feelings for me it would be unlikely to be a sustainable relationship."

"You could still have..."

"It's the same reason I never said anything to Lestrade."

"What?"

"I came to the same conclusion about him several years ago. Pursuing a relationship would not have been advantageous to either of us."

There was a distant slam of a door from downstairs followed by the unmistakable voice of DI Greg Lestrade calling, "Hello?"

Sherlock clutched a fistful of the front of John's jumper. "You have a far better chance than I ever had. Tell him how you feel," he implored.

Greg's voice grew louder as he moved down the hall. "It's OK, Mrs Hudson. I'll see myself up... No, it's nothing. Just a scratch."

John and Sherlock's heads both snapped round to watch the stairs as a weary looking figure with his arm in a sling hove into sight up them.

Lestrade looked at them standing toe-to-toe and coughed nervously. "Not, er, not interrupting anything am I?"

Johns stepped back from Sherlock and moved quickly towards Lestrade. "Shouldn't you be home resting?" he asked.

"Probably, yeah - but I thought I'd drop this off first." Lestrade reached into one of the pockets of his overcoat and took out John's gun. "You know, this completely non-existent gun that you don't have, never have had and have certainly never shot any cabbies with."

John took it from him with a mumbled, "Thank you", checked the clip and the safety and put it down on the kitchen table.

"John has something he needs to talk to you about," Sherlock announced.

John glared at him.

Lestrade just raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah?"

"I'll leave you alone." Sherlock walked between them but turned just before he reached his bedroom door. "And... I apologise for not sharing my plans with you, Lestrade. I never intended for anyone to get hurt, least of all you."

Lestrade's eyebrows somehow managed to raise even further. "Oh.. well, thanks. I know you didn't. These things happen, eh?"

Sherlock nodded, moved swiftly into his room and closed the door behind him. He looked around for something to replace the temptation to eavesdrop and his eyes lit upon a half-finished experiment on fingernail decomposition on his desk. Perfect...

There was a knock on his door.

Sherlock glanced at the clock. Nearly two hours had passed.

"Come in."

John pushed the door open. Lestrade stood immediately behind him, his one good arm around John's waist.

Sherlock gave them both a long look up and down. Ruffled hair, rumpled clothing, flushed faces...

"Please tell me you at least restricted your activities to John's room."

John smiled. "We did."

"Mostly," Lestrade added.

"But we thought..." John twisted his head and looked to Lestrade for... reassurance? Confirmation?

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Go on, it was your idea." Lestrade shoved John further into Sherlock's room.

John stumbled over to stand beside Sherlock. "Umm... well...."

"We wondered if you might like to join us for the cuddling?" Lestrade said from behind him.

Sherlock looked up at John's face.

"What he said," John jerked his head back towards Lestrade.

Sherlock studied John carefully. He was... nervous, hopeful, slightly embarrassed - and being completely honest.

John leaned over and after a moment's hesitation, kissed Sherlock very softly on the lips.

It was perfect.

Too perfect.

"I'm not sure I understand." Sherlock didn't often say that but he must have missed _something_.

"If you don't mind sharing me with Greg..."

Lestrade coughed - loudly.

"And sharing Greg with me..."

"Thank you" Lestrade muttered.

"...then we don't mind sharing each other with you."

This was a solution that quite simply had never occurred. Sherlock's brain buzzed as he considered the startlingly unexpected idea...

"We could at least give it a go. If you like," John said.

Sherlock leaned back so he could see round John to Lestrade.

Lestrade nodded. "I don't have a problem with it. Quite the opposite." He detached himself from the door jamb he'd been leaning against and came over to stand on beside John. "Especially if it stops you getting me shot to get John's attention."

"That was _not_ the intended outcome of--"

Lestrade put his finger on Sherlock's lips. "Shut up. I was teasing." He moved his hand and placed it gently on Sherlock's head, ruffling his hair.

Sherlock felt his eyes half-close involuntarily at the touch.

Lestrade chuckled. "Oh he likes that, does he?" He started to stroke his fingers through Sherlock's thick curls. "You daft bugger," he said fondly.

"I've always wanted to do that." John admitted.

His hand joined Lest-- _Greg's_ and Sherlock let his eyes close all the way.

This was an insane idea. It would never work.

But it was certainly worth investigating...


End file.
